On Wednesday night one of us attended the premiere of the most intriguing product of the Hollywood "stop paying attention to our traffic violations and start paying attention to us heroically shedding light on international hotspots" wave that was the movie
A Mighty Heart. It was not a very good movie, though
Angelina Jolie acted the shit out of it and
Michael Winterbottom's direction so autistically true to life that we could practically smell the streets of Karachi. (Scent: not so fresh!) No, what seemed to be wrong was the story. It was teeming with requisite ingredients — love, terrorism, horror, goodness, nuance, spies, counterspies, nebbishy journalists, conspiracy theorizing brown people — so teeming you would forgive it if the teemingness was the problem. But it was hollow and small and annoyingly unambitious, and you had trouble caring about
Mariane Pearl, who in the final scene of the movie gives birth to her and Daniel Pearl's son alone. (She gives birth alone — why? Because she is a semi-insufferable woman who romanticizes and dramatizes her every action and giving birth alone is supposed to symbolize some great triumph of the human spirit? Or because no one really likes her all that much? Or because putting an
Eason Jordan character in the movie would be kinda distracting?) After the jump, Moe weighs in more on the movie and the book that inspired it.
[Jezebel]